


Why all this music?

by dana_norram



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Dancing, Dancing and Singing, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Metaphors, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Smut, Porn with Feelings, Slow Dancing, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_norram/pseuds/dana_norram
Summary: Nicolò started to keep count after Quỳnh was gone. With Yusuf’s arms around him, lips against his neck, Nicolò would think how time was a treasure he wished he could keep in a chest other than his own. To keep it safe when it was too heavy to carry around.Joe and Nicky dance throughout the millennia.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 27
Kudos: 149
Collections: Centennial Celebration Collection





	Why all this music?

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate one of our immortal husbands many milestones, I give you ten 100-word drabbles about them dancing throughout the millennia. Happy Valentine’s day!
> 
> Thank you so much [Michelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/side_biddy/) for your amazing beta skills and suggestions here. You are a genius! <3

They do not know what their last song will be, but they remember the first. Battle cries and war drums, arrows whistling, sharp steel against boiled leather, through severed flesh. A hollow echo following each kill, one more gasp, the only music left. Nicolò did not know how to move with grace back then, wearied and weighted down by his armour, by his cross (by his sins). Yusuf was always so quick on his feet. The first to understand they could not keep fighting, to offer a hand, to take the lead, to dare (to hope) for a different dance.

\--

Nicolò did not dance, but he did sing. Yusuf could not understand all of it, the Latin and its vowels stretched around Nicolò’s deep voice. He learned Nicolò used to chant with his brothers and cousins in the harbour, about a young man who wanted to see the world. Later, his songs became only fit to praise the Lord, head bowed, holy words lifted high by the arched stone. Out in the desert Nicolò’s voice did not resonate as well, except in the chambers of Yusuf’s heart. Yusuf ignored his toes and fingers tingling to move, to touch; he ached.

\--

Yusuf danced as he fought, sure footed and elegant. Nicolò watched as he led a crooked chain of men, his gestures flowery with a sharp edge, drawing them in a semi-circle. Their feet stamped on the ground; the constant beat breeding a cloud of dust. Nicolò looked at their hands linked and washed the bitterness with a dose of arak. The bride was the daughter of the caravan’s leader and they had saved her life. Nicolò knew he was a guest of honour, so when he was offered to join Yusuf and the other men, it was hard to refuse.

\--

Without his full-armour, Nicolò became more skilled with his sword, and Yusuf laughed as he was knocked on his bum. The sun was setting, and Yusuf needed to wash up for his prayers, so he raised his arm, asked for a hand; instead Nicolò dropped on his knees so they could be at level. He kept his hands to himself as he leaned forward, pressed their lips together, but the air was knocked out of Yusuf all the same. He grabbed Nicolò’s hair, drew him closer and in a swift movement, inverted their positions. Nicolò looked up, smiling; he yielded.

\--

There was music out in the harbour, sailors and fishermen singing because it was summer and the sea was gentle like an old lover. It made Nicolò think of home, but he did not miss it, not when Yusuf pushed him against their pallet, no clothes, no barrier. He did not make love like he fought, but it was a dance still. Nicolò gasped when Yusuf took his hand and put it on his shoulder, close to his neck so maybe Nicolò could feel his pulse. He grabbed Nicolò’s hip, looked into his eyes as he moved, warm and deep.

\--

Quỳnh taught them the best way to dance. She laughed, loud and delighted, when she found Nicolò could sing. She ordered him to do it so she could wrap her arms around Andromache’s waist, bury her face in her neck. Yusuf clapped along Nicolò's deep voice, until his heart stopped to pull him into the same warm embrace. They swayed together in silence and Yusuf felt a kinship with Quỳnh as she winked at him over her lover’s shoulder. Five hundred years later, Yusuf held Andromache as her body shook violently, her throat raw and soul shattered like a shipwreck.

\--

Nicolò started to keep count after Quỳnh was gone. With Yusuf’s arms around him, lips against his neck, Nicolò would think how time was a treasure he wished he could keep in a chest other than his own. To keep it safe when it was too heavy to carry around. They were on dance seventy-eight when they found Sébastien. One night, their new brother asked about the taste of seawater as he grasped his throat, voice hoarse and older than his years. Andrea looked as if she was struck and Joseph took Nicolas outside; they danced barefoot until they bled.

\--

The twenty-century made the world smaller, crowded. Wars piled on top of another, each battle more vicious than the last, leaving little to no space to dance their worries away. They made do. Joseph did not mind twirling Nicolas around in the secrecy of their bedroom, happy for the music devices that got smaller, easy to handle. He would smile at humanity’s skills, even though he wished their innovation did not extend to bombs and tanks. He wept when they walked around Berlin after the ceasefire and found the corner where _El Dorado_ club used to be, buried in rubble.

\--

It seemed fitting that their hundredth dance were to happen at the turn of the millennia. They weren’t dressed for the _réveillon_ , as the Brazilians called it, but in full-gear as Nicky made a nest on the top of a shack at the _Pavãozinho_ favela. He had a clear shot of their mark’s penthouse, but it could wait. The fireworks at Copacabana exploded in so many colours Nicky knew Joe was tempted to let go of him so he could grab a sketchbook. Nicky held on, pressed his nose against Joe’s neck, one of the few patches of skin available.

\--

This was closer to fighting than to dancing, but that was beside the point. Joe removed the last piece of bone and failed not to picture Booker’s face as he touched the small patch where Nicky’s hair would take longer to grown. He mouthed the skin of Nicky’s neck and fumbled around the shower stall, blinded by water. He just needed something to ease the way and when Nicky pushed back with a gasp, Joe heard music. Nothing would make him more scared than the silence that followed that gunshot. Nothing would make him settle for less than a century.

**Author's Note:**

>  _To be alive: not just the carcass  
>  But the spark.  
> That's crudely put, but…  
> If we're not supposed to dance,  
> Why all this music?_  
>  **To Be Alive - Gregory Orr**  
> 
> 
> Thank you all for reading this! If you get a chance, kudos and comments help me to avoid soul-crushing doubts about writing, so I would love to hear your thoughts. I have a [Tumblr](http://negotiumcrucis.tumblr.com/) and my ask box is always open.
> 
> This work is part of the [Centennial Celebration Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CentennialCelebrationCollection/works). Go check the other amazing stories written to celebrate our immortal husbands.
> 
>  **Edited:** Yusuf is dancing the [Dabke](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dabke) in the wedding scene (aka drabble number 3), which is a type of Levantine folk dance. I know that in the movie canon Yusuf isn’t from the Levant, but since he was in Jerusalem during the first Crusade, I believe he would have learned how to dance it eventually.


End file.
